


Whatever It Takes

by Talithax



Category: Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol (2011)
Genre: Angst, Fade to Black, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, POV First Person, Team
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-17
Updated: 2013-01-17
Packaged: 2017-11-25 20:22:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/642618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talithax/pseuds/Talithax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How far is Will prepared to go to achieve his goal, and how far is Ethan willing to let him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whatever It Takes

**Author's Note:**

> The tag wasn't coming up, so consider this a warning if it's something you actively avoid - Implied Sexual Assault
> 
> Self beta'd. Narrated by Ethan.
> 
> This may... possibly... turn into a series. I've already written a follow up fic, but... am yet to work out how I feel about it, so... Watch this space.
> 
> As always, heartfelt thanks go out to all those who have left kudos for my earlier fics!

==============  
Whatever It Takes  
by TalithaX  
==============

 

Pulling my key from the lock, I open the door and walk into the safe house to instantly recognisable sounds of clashing swords and general mayhem. Knowing all too well what to expect once I make it the length of the short passageway, I drop my bag onto the floor, mentally cross my fingers that my unannounced arrival doesn't cause too much consternation, and walk into the living area.

“Don't tell me, let me guess,” I comment, leaning casually against the doorframe, “those pesky orcs are making a nuisance of themselves again...”

“What?” The unexpected sound of my voice managing to shock Benji out of the battle for Middle Earth being played – literally, as in by the controller held tightly in his hand – out on the large screen television, he jerks his head around and peers over the back of the sofa at me through wide eyes. “Oh... Oh, it's only you, Ethan.” Pausing the game with only the most fleeting of longing looks at the scene now frozen in time on the screen, he stretches his arms out until I hear both wrists click and smiles with obvious satisfaction. “Good trip to Berlin?”

“If you call learning nothing of interest from your so-called informant while getting stuck in some of the most horrific traffic jams known to man, then, hey, it was a blast,” I mutter as I shrug out of my coat and drape it over the back of an armchair. “I can, however, see that you're making the most of your downtime in Paris.”

“If you got dragged over here on school trips as many times as I did growing up then you'd be over it too,” Benji replies, wrinkling his nose as he glances towards the window and the familiar shape of the Eiffel Tower that fills it. “Besides, it's full of French people and frogs legs. I mean, come on! Seriously. If I wanted to eat something that tastes like chicken I'd just eat chicken. Oh! And snails. Don't get me started on snails.”

“Trust me. I wasn't planning to.” Walking further into the room, I look around at all the open doors leading off it and shrug. “Where are the others?”

“Jane, unlike my desire to remain holed up here with my orcs, is making the most of her downtime in Paris by ensuring she does enough shopping for all of us.”

“I don't think I want to know.”

“Given that she went off muttering excitedly about Chanel, Dior and Gaultier, amongst, that is, others that I've never even heard of before... No, you probably don't want to know.”

“And Will?” I query, sinking down in the armchair. “Don't tell me he got dragged along to carry all the bags.”

Shaking his head, Benji leans forward and grabs a full bottle of water from amongst all the empty bottles on the coffee-table. “Will...” Unscrewing the lid, he takes a drink before glancing at his watch and shrugging. “Will's in London.”

Benji's matter-of-fact answer being just about the last thing I expected to hear, I narrow my eyes and look over at him expectantly. “And... Will would be in London... why, exactly?” I prompt, only just managing to resist the urge to drum my fingers with mounting impatience against my knees. While I like to consider myself as... relatively... easy going, I take my team responsibilities seriously and don't, not for a second, like the thought of one of my team having just up and left without first contacting me to discuss his reasons. I especially don't like that the team member in question is the one I know the least and am still trying to get a true handle on. William Brandt, while there's no denying he's somehow managed to get under my skin in ways I'm yet to fully comprehend let alone explain, is still the newest member of my team and the thought of him having gone off on his own concerns me. Sure, he's fully trained and I do, as much as I can anyone, trust him, it's just...

He's by the book.

And nowhere in the book does it mention walking out on your team.

“Kirby called and said something about Chameleon being in town and needing his assistance,” Benji replies, meeting my gaze and frowning. “What? Kirby's team was already in London and, well, Chameleon is always a target, so... What's wrong?”

“What's wrong?” I repeat, scowling as I jump to my feet and begin to pace the length of the mat laid out in front of the television. “Kirby's a good agent and, yes, Chameleon is always of interest, but that doesn't explain Will just up and heading off to London.” Pausing, I gesture at Benji's cell phone as it lies, half hidden behind all the empty water bottles and chocolate wrappers, on the coffee-table. “Get him on the phone. I want to hear his explanation for myself.”

“Uh-uh. Not a good idea,” Benji responds as, to my great annoyance, he makes no move to pick up his phone. “Hey! Don't look at me like that. We don't know what Will's doing. He might be undercover and not be in a position to take a call.”

“Fine.” Not wanting to let on that in this instance Benji's clearly thinking straighter than I am, I gesture at the phone again. “Try Kirby then. I'm sure everything's above board but I'm not going to relax until I get to the bottom of what's caused Will's sudden, not to mention unexplained, departure.”

Nodding his acceptance of my, better late then never, application of logic to the situation, Benji retrieves his phone and quickly accesses Kirby's number. Dialling it, he holds the phone up to his ear for an incredibly long minute before cancelling the call and giving me a concerned look. “No answer,” he mutters redundantly as, still thinking one step ahead of me, he drops his phone onto his lap and reaches for the laptop sitting on the sofa next to him. “Check the team logs, yeah?”

“You took the words right out of my mouth,” I state as, my sense of unease growing, I join Benji on the sofa. “Got anything yet?”

“Only that Kirby's team have missed their last two check-ins,” Benji replies, biting down on his bottom lip as he swivels around to face me. “Ethan... What's going on? Will's been gone for close to twenty-four hours, which...”

“Which means he's missed the last two check-ins as well,” I finish with a sigh. “Fuck! I'm sorry, Benji, but I'm as clueless in respect to what's going on here as you are.”

“Do you want me to call Jane back?” Benji offers softly as, without waiting for my response, he once again picks up his phone. “I mean, we're going to London, yeah?”

I nod and take the laptop from Benji so I can begin looking into flights out of Charles De Gaulle. “Yes. We're going to London.”

~*~

I wait until Jane's climbed out of the cab before picking up her small backpack from off the floor and handing it out the door to her. She takes it from me with a smile of thanks and, solely for the benefit of the cab driver who's been staring at her like he's transfixed ever since we climbed into his vehicle at Paddington Station, bounces up and down on the spot as though she can't contain her excitement. Knowing that I have my own role of slightly befuddled tourist to play, I pull my wallet out of my back pocket and, as the driver turns in his seat to face me, pretend to be confused by the collection of bank notes contained within in it. Finally selecting a twenty pound note, I flash the cabbie a happy smile and hand it over with a flourish. “Cheers, mate,” I mutter, climbing out of the cab and joining Jane on the street. “Keep the change.”

“Cheers, mate?” Jane echoes, giving me a funny look as, shouldering her backpack, we both glance up towards the top floor of the decrepit looking old house we're standing it front of. While it was no doubt grand in its day, the house has now been converted into flats and bedsits and, as I take in the boarded up windows and loose roof tiles, I suspect would have to be listed as a 'renovators dream' should it ever come up for sale. IMF having a history of not caring a damn about aesthetics though, Kirby's team have been using one of the fourth floor flats as their base and that's why we're here. Not liking their silence any more than we did when we discovered it in Paris six hours ago, we've got the Secretary's official go ahead to both investigate and proceed as we see fit and, no, even though we're hopefully only a minute away from getting our first answer, I don't like it any more than I did earlier.

There's just something not quite right about any of it. Call it a gut feeling or sixth sense or whatever. There's something going on here, something I don't yet know about, and I don't like it.

Shaking off my growing sense of doubt, I look at Jane and shrug as we begin to walk along the short, poorly paved path that leads up to the front door. “As I told you on the plane, Earls Court is known for being a home away from home for Australians in London,” I murmur quietly. Hoping that I don't have to remind her that we don't know who, if indeed anyone, is watching and that our hastily put together cover is that of Australian tourists just dropping in to see a friend, I shoot her a quick warning look and add, “Besides, having spent time there, that's how they speak. Mate this, mate that, everyone's a mate.”

“Yes, but... The world at large seems to think Americans have a compulsion to wish everyone to 'have a good day, y'all', yet for some reason I've never heard you say that,” Jane retorts, hiding her own unease behind easy banter and a smirk. “Admit it. You're just stereotyping and you know it.”

“Not at all, me ol' mate.” Laughing at the feigned look of long suffering she shoots me, I make to knock on the front door only to have it immediately open on me and for two men in their early twenties to come barelling through it. One of them – and he just happens to be wearing a pair of navy blue board shorts emblazoned with the Australian flag – nearly knocks me over and, quickly reaching out his hand, grabs my arm to steady me.

“Sorry, mate,” he states apologetically as his friend looks Jane up and down with obvious interest. “You here to see to someone, yeah?”

“We're here to pay a surprise visit to Mick,” Jane replies, linking her arm around mine and causing her fan's shoulders to slump in disappointment. “He's a... mate... of ours from Melbourne.”

“Top floor, then. Go right in.” Frowning, the man glances at his friend and shrugs. “Dunno if he's in though as it's been mighty quiet up there since yesterday.”

“Oh well.” I smile and, shifting around the men, lead Jane inside. “We're here now so may as well go up anyway.”

“Yeah, good luck with that, mate.”

There being nothing else that needs to said to the men, I pull my arm free of Jane's and begin to walk up the stairs. “See? I told you... Mate this, mate that,” I mutter over my shoulder.

“Mmm... But did you hear what he said about it being all quiet in Kir... uh... Mick's flat?” she murmurs, correcting herself just in time and reverting to the name Kirby's using for cover. “I don't know about you, but I'm liking this less and less.”

“I haven't liked it since I first heard he'd just up and gone to London,” I reply drily as, each of us lost in our own thoughts, we continue making our way to the fourth floor in silence. Reaching the door to Kirby's flat, I glance around to ensure we don't have an audience before retrieving the universal key from my pocket and inserting it in the lock. Unlocking the door with ease, I give it a push in order to gain entrance to the flat but something on the inside provides resistance and I can't get it open. Sharing a worried look with Jane, I check to see if the chain is on the door and, when I see that it's not I just know I'm not going to like what it is we're about to discover.

Resistance usually meaning there's something pressing against the door as opposed to it being rigged with some form of explosive device, I take a step back, gesture at Jane to keep her distance and, without pausing to fall prey to second thoughts, deliver a kick to the door that sees it begrudgingly fly open. Spotting the cause of the resistance before Jane has had time to move, I swear under my breath and, spinning around, grab her by the shoulders. “Just stand back!” I command, quickly pulling the door back shut while I plan my next move.

“What is it?” Jane queries, her eyes darting from left to right as she takes a couple of steps back towards the stairs. “What did you see?”

“Something that you don't need to,” I mutter as, my mind made up, I grab the hem of my t-shirt and lift it up so that I can cover my mouth and nose with the soft cotton fabric. “Stay here, and if I'm not out in a minute just go and meet Benji at the rendezvous point.”

“Yeah. Right.” Folding her arms across her chest, Jane tilts her head in the direction of the door. “Just go and do what you have to do and I'll see you in a couple of seconds.”

Accepting that there's no point in arguing with her because she'll just do as she wants anyway, I nod and, both taking and holding a deep breath, push the door open. Stepping over Kirby's body as it lays inside the doorway, I pause just long enough to confirm, going on his blue lips and hideously contorted facial expression, my earlier suspicions that he's succumbed to some form of poison before, knowing that I can't do anything for him, moving away and quickly searching the small flat. The other members of his team, Terrance Potter and Heather Mayfield, who I once worked with in Prague, are also dead, their bodies slumped over the table they'd been sitting at before the poison took effect. Not knowing what sort of poison was used to kill them and half suspecting it to be airborne, I know that I don't have time to waste and after confirming that the flat has both been tossed and all the team's electronic equipment taken from it, I walk back out onto the landing and pull the door tightly shut behind me.

“And?” Jane demands as, needing to breathe fresh air, I grab her arm and start to drag her down the stairs. “They're dead, aren't they?”

“Yes. From some sort of poison by the looks of it,” I mutter, already pulling my phone out of my pocket so that I can call the Sweepers to come in and take charge of the situation once I'm outside.

Coming to a sudden stop on the second floor landing, Jane positions herself in front of me and clenches her fingers in my t-shirt. “And... Will? Was he in there?”

I shake my head. “No. He wasn't in there and nor did I see any sign of him ever having been there either.”

“Thank God,” Jane sighs with obviously heartfelt relief as, releasing her hold on my t-shirt, she continues down the stairs. “Just... What's going on here though? I thought he came to London to join Kirby.”

“I wish I knew,” I state, speeding up as, finally, the front door and the promise of fresh air appears at the foot of the stairs. “I'm telling you know though that one way or another I'm going to get to the bottom of it.”

~*~

The stench of half-eaten pizza coming from the box on the coffee-table doing absolutely nothing for my stomach which is already feeling knotted up enough as it is, I jump to my feet and, picking it up, carry it over to the kitchen. Not wanting to appear too dictatorial, even though I know – especially seeing as I didn't particularly want the one slice I did force down – I won't ever be wanting any more of it, I shove it in the refrigerator as opposed to the bin and after grabbing myself a bottle of water walk back into the living room.

“Okay,” I murmur wearily as I sink back down into the armchair and run my fingers messily though my hair. “Let's go over everything we've been able to come up with.”

Sighing, Benji looks up from his laptop and gives me a mournful, almost pleading look. “Again?”

“Again,” Jane confirms from her position leaning against the wall by the window. “Not only is that prick, Chameleon, in town, but, more importantly, we've got to find Will. Sleep and everything else can wait.”

The death of Kirby and his team, intel giving every indication that one our highest profile targets, Chameleon, is in London, and the small fact of life that, yes, one of our own is missing having made waves through headquarters, we've set up base in the Secretary's very own personal flat in Knightsbridge and, there being no other team near by, have been charged with the not inconsiderable task of trying to make sense of everything. This, mind you, is merely a formality as far as I'm concerned as I had no intention whatsoever of leaving London without either Will or, at the very least and by far less preferable, a guaranteed lock on his whereabouts. There's no denying that Chameleon is of interest, but my main aim, hell, my only aim, is Will. 

It's probably ridiculous, given that he's not only as well trained as I am but also naturally more thorough and cautious, but I feel slightly responsible for him. It's because, liking what I saw of both his skills and himself as a person when fate threw us together in Moscow, I asked him to return to field work that he's here in the first place. Then there's the fact, albeit unbeknownst to me at the time, that, also in the first place, I was essentially responsible for him having given up field work to become an analyst... So, somehow, for no logical reason that I've ever been able to come up with, William Brandt's life seems inexplicably entwined with mine and, having made it this far, I'm determined to get him back. Part of me, the 'do as I say, not as I do' team leader part, just wants him back so I can tear him a new one for having taken matters into his own hands and leaving the team without an explanation. Another part of me though, and this part is admittedly larger, just wants him back, period.

“Fine,” Benji sighs, tapping his finger against the photograph of a tanned, cruel faced man on the screen of his laptop. “Henrik Boucher, otherwise known as Chameleon because he is, quite literally, a master of disguise. At last count our files contain over thirty different aliases and each alias comes with a... uh... different face. Now... As best as we've been able to come up with he's a South African arms dealer in his middle to late forties. There is no weapon too big or too small for him and he appears to take pleasure in being on the most wanted list of just about every world security agency there is. Oh... and, with over fifty confirmed deaths to his name, I think it's safe to say he kills without hesitation.”

“And Kirby's team tracked him to London,” Jane finishes as, scowling at the photograph on the computer, she walks across the room and takes a seat next to Benji on the sofa. “The thing is, we don't even know if that picture is of the real Boucher or whether it's just another of his disguises.”

“We don't even know if it's his real name,” I murmur, slowly shaking my head. “But... Okay. Moving on from the bare... very bare... basics we know about Boucher, what else have we been able to come up with?” Having heard it all before, I'm already as clear as I'm likely to currently get on what's been going on but I want to go through it all again so that I can be confident we're all on the same page, that our worry over Will isn't clouding our judgement and making us miss something possibly important.

“According to the intel retrieved from Kirby's files back at HQ, they'd tracked Chameleon's likely whereabouts to a club called Erato in Notting Hill,” Jane starts, taking over from Benji and referring to the fact that despite having lost all of Kirby's computers we haven't lost any of the team's information because it's all safely contained on the servers back at IMF headquarters in D.C.. Security being paramount in everything that we do, all our electronic equipment is set up to immediately wipe its memory clean the second the wrong password is entered into it. So, really, it falling into the wrong hands is never of any great concern as the most they're likely to get from it is a nasty electric shock if they try to open the casing.

“And Erato just happens to be a sex club seemingly under the protection of both MI5 and MI6,” I add, frowning down at the water bottle in my hands as, without even really being aware of it, I scratch aimlessly at its paper label with my fingernail. “Both organisations appear to have heavily locked files on it, which can only lead me to believe it counts a number of so-called very important people amongst its members. The sort of people who wouldn't want their names linked to a, regardless of how expensive and classy it may be, gay sex club.”

Stifling a yawn, Benji leans back against the sofa and props his feet up on the coffee-table. “A sex club though, that would fit in with what we think about Chameleon and his... uh... sadistic predilections. According to his file a surprising, actually, make that a... alarming... number of sex crimes and murders committed on young men seems to follow in the bastard's wake. Hell... He's probably getting his rocks off in there while we sit around scratching our arses.”

“Given that we think that's where Will might be,” Jane mutters, giving Benji a sour look, “I really wish you hadn't just said that.”

“If... that's where he is,” I interject as, standing up, I deposit my water bottle on the coffee-table and walk over to the window. If our sums are correct, Will left the safe house in Paris over thirty – unaccounted for – hours ago. And... if Erato was where Kirby had seen fit to send him then, really, it just doesn't bear thinking about. While it being far from my sort of scene, I know clubs like Erato better than I'd like to know them and can't imagine the sort of thing that goes on in them holding much joy for Will either. “Assuming Kirby's reports were up-to-date, and there's no way we can tell if they were or not, it appears that Will was going to be sent in after him as he was both fresh to the case and Kirby thought there was a chance Chameleon knew his team was close. Whether he actually made it there or not, however, is unknown.”

“And I still say, instead of, as Benji just delightfully said, sitting here scratching our backsides we should be marching in there to look for him,” Jane snaps, her eyes flashing with pent up emotion. “Goddamn it, Ethan! Kirby and his team are dead, we have no idea what sort of trouble Will might be in, and we're just sitting here doing nothing! It... It's not right.”

Resting my back against the cool glass of the window, I gaze over at Jane and shake my head. “It mightn't be right, but short of sticking Benji there in a leather g-string and shoving a ball gag in his mouth in order to march him up to Erato's front door, which, incidentally, would be the only way we'd be getting in, what do you want me to do, huh?”

“I want you to find Will!” Jane fires back as, looking far more alert than he did a moment ago, Benji stares at me with a horrified, if not vaguely nervous expression on his face. “Even if he's not there we'd at least have another place to scratch off our list and could start looking for him somewhere else.”

“And if he is there,” I murmur tiredly, “then he's there of his own volition. What's more, he knows the score and knows he'll be on his own if things go pear shaped.” Sighing, I move away from the wall and gently push down the screen of Benji's laptop. “Look. I don't like this any more than either of you do and, even if it mightn't look that way to you, Jane, I'm also as worried about Will as you are, but... For now at least he's on his own. If nothing else has popped up by then, come morning we'll rethink trying to gain entrance to Erato. I suspect it'll be easier during daylight hours anyway.”

Giving me the sort of look that says although she doesn't agree with me for a second, she's too tired to argue, Jane stands up and stretches. “Given that something is going to have to give tomorrow whether you like it or not,” she mutters, holding her hand out to Benji and waiting for him take it before helping him up off the sofa, “I need some sleep.”

“We all do,” I agree, placing my hand on Jane's shoulder and giving it what I hope comes across as a reassuring squeeze. “Just... Get some rest and we'll meet back here in a couple of hours.”

~*~

An insistent hand prodding my shoulder being one of my least favourite things – it's right up there with hearing the sound of a gun being cocked – to wake up to, I reach automatically under my pillow for my gun and have the nozzle shoved up against the temple of my intruder before they're even fully aware that I'm awake.

“What?” an instantly recognisable voice exclaims with obvious panic as, stumbling over his feet in his haste to get away, Benji bats his hand haphazardly at the switch on the wall to turn the light on. “Ethan! Whoa... Put the gun down and look at me. It's me... Benji.”

“What have I told you about waking me?” I mutter with a groan as, blinking in the sudden light, I swing my legs over the edge of the mattress and sit up. “This incidentally, given that I could have just blown your brains out, had better be good.”

“It is. Well, that is, I hope it is,” Benji, who I can now see is wearing pyjama pants covered in the Superman symbol and, just for something different, a t-shirt with the Batman logo in the middle of the chest, replies, brandishing his iPad at me. “I... I wouldn't have woke you otherwise.”

Shrugging, I rub my hands over my face and, just call it out of idle curiosity, ask, “What time is it?”

“Uh...” Looking, dare I say it, confused that I'd be asking such a mundane question when he has important information to share, Benji stares at me for a second before peering down at the screen of his iPad. “It's just gone three.”

Three in the morning. Wonderful. That would mean, lucky me, I've had an entire fifty minutes sleep. “It's just gone three,” I murmur, “and you've woken me because...”

“Because of this.” Bounding – literally, like a geeky gazelle – over to the bed, Benji sinks down on the mattress next to me and drops his iPad on my lap. “Look,” he continues excitedly, pointing down at the screen and the map of London with two small red dots on it. One dot is slightly paler than the other and they're in two separate locations. Other than that fairly obvious fact though I have no idea what I'm looking at.

“And... I would be looking at... what... exactly?”

“Well, that,” Benji replies, tapping his finger on the paler of the dots, “I think, well, I'm hoping, that's Will, while the other one, again, I'm really, really hoping here, is Chameleon.”

“Oh.” My attention finally having been snared, I gaze at Benji expectantly. “And what makes you think that?”

“Oh! When I noticed that it was missing...”

“Noticed what was missing?”

“The TR-81...”

“Of course. The TR-81 is missing.” Taking a deep breath, I turn to face Benji and dredge up as calm a looking smile as I can manage. TR-81 is a high tech, highly experimental tracking system. Each batch has its own unique tracking code that, when applied to a target means we can track their every movement. It gets applied directly to skin and can't be washed off. Each team has a small cannister in their kit but it's only ever used on the highest of targets and even then only with the Secretary's direct go ahead. “Just, out of curiosity here, when were you going to tell me that the TR-81 was missing?”

“Because, having assumed Will must have taken it, I didn't think I needed to tell you,” Benji responds with a shrug. “As it's apparently news to you though, both the TR-81 and the asthma inhaler method of deploying it have gone. I'm thinking he must have taken it in order to try to apply it to Chameleon.”

“Okay. Fine.” It's not, not really, as something like TR-81 isn't one of those things that gets used lightly but, whatever, as it appears to be offering us the lead we so desperately need, I don't care. “And you think it's worked?”

“I do.” Benji nods happily and taps his finger on the iPad again. “When I noticed that it had gone I installed the tracking software on the iPad and a couple of minutes ago it alerted me to the fact it was active. I could be wrong, of course, but I'm working on the assumption that Will must have got some of the stuff on him while he was getting it on Chameleon.”

It gradually dawning on me that Benji could really be on to something here, I pick the iPad up and look closely at the location of the paler red dot. “So, if you're right, Will's... here? On Hampstead Heath?”

“Mmm... It's a known gay beat,” Benji mutters, taking the iPad from me and quickly bringing up a video of CCTV footage. “I've also got this,” he continues, playing the grainy footage of a black van pulling up at a curb and a man being shoved out through the back doors. “I know you can't see who it is being evicted from the van, but the road is Lower Terrace, which is near the Heath, and I traced the plates and the van's registered to Erato, so...”

“So it's definitely worth looking into,” I state, cutting him off as, standing up, I walk over to my suitcase. “What about Chameleon?” I add, grabbing the first pair of jeans and shirt I come to and throwing them both onto the bed. “Where's he at?”

“The Mandarin Oriental at Hyde Park.”

“Good.” Stripping off my t-shirt, I pull the shirt on and quickly do up the buttons. “Hopefully that's where he's based. Now...” Pulling my jeans on over my boxers, I look around for socks and shoes and, finding them, sink back down on the bed to put them on. “Benji, go and wake Jane. I'll take her to Hampstead Heath while you stay here and keep an eye on the Chameleon dot. Oh... And good work. Really good work.”

Standing up, Benji flashes a shy smile at me as he starts to walk out of the room. “The TR-81 did all the work. All I did was initiate the tracking programme.”

“It was still good work. Now... Jane. Go.”

Mentally crossing my fingers that Benji's paler dot really is Will, I grab my gun, torch and phone and walk out of the bedroom to find Jane already waiting for me. 

“What?” she mutters, shrugging as, without waiting for an answer, she leads the way to the front door. “I heard Benji's triumphant grunt the moment his iPad bleeped into life,” she continues over her shoulder as, catching up to her, we walk out into the corridor and make our way towards the lift. “That, and holding firmly to the belief that something was going to finally come our way, I didn't bother getting undressed and just went to bed still in my clothes.”

“I'll bring you up to date with everything in the car,” I reply as, the lift taking far too long to reach our floor, we share an impatient look and, without speaking, head for the stairs.

Twenty minutes later Jane knows as much as I do and, traffic being as light as it ever really gets in London given that it's only three-thirty in the morning, I'm bringing the car to a smooth stop on Lower Terrace at give or take the same location the van from Erato was at earlier. “Fingers crossed, huh?” I murmur as, once again moving in unison, we get out of the car and begin to head onto Hampstead Heath.

“Well and truly crossed,” Jane agrees, looking down at her iPhone and the miniature version of Benji's tracking software that fills the screen. “I'm not even thinking about where we'll be at if this dot isn't Will,” she adds, using the phone to point to the left. “That way. We need to go that way.”

Although the Heath is bigger than it looked on the map, it's well lit by an obligingly full, golden moon and by jogging across it at a fair pace it doesn't take us too long to catch sight of a familiar looking figure sitting slumped on a park bench. “Here goes nothing,” I mutter to Jane as, speeding up, we jog up to the bench and discover – thank God for something having finally gone right today – that the man sitting on it is indeed Will.

Dressed in a decidedly un-Will-like outfit of too tight black leather trousers and equally as tight, if not tighter black t-shirt with what looks to be a glorified studded dog collar around his neck and wide leather cuffs on his wrists as accessories, he stares fixedly at a wad of cash in his hand and gives no indication of being aware of our presence. It strikes me, as I crouch down next to him and look up into his wide, vacant eyes, that as sexy as his clothing is meant to be it's just managing to make him look both curiously young and achingly vulnerable.

“Hey, Will,” I murmur, sharing a look with Jane as I tentatively place my hand on his knee. “It's me, Ethan. And, look... Jane's with me too...”

“They...” Holding out the money towards me, Will shakes his head and gazes, still very much vacantly, at Jane. “They paid me. Can you believe it? They... actually... paid me...”

~*~

Sighing, I reluctantly accept that staring at the closed bedroom door isn't going to make Dr Simpson reappear through it any quicker and turn my attention to Benji. “I still don't like any of this,” I state, flipping the iPad case shut and dropping the device on the coffee-table. “There's just too many unknowns.” 

Glancing up from his ever-present laptop, Benji, and to his credit here he doesn't give me 'and, well, what exactly do you expect me to be able to do about it?' look, meets my gaze and shrugs wearily. “We know Chameleon is holed up in the Mandarin Oriental under the name Charles Perkins, which, yes, it yet another new alias, and the room is booked out for the remainder of the week,” he replies. “As to why he's materialised in London, however, well, you're right, that's just a complete unknown.”

“Maybe the bastard's just having a holiday,” Jane interjects from her sprawled position on the sofa. “I mean, who knows, perhaps even scum bag arms dealers get to take holidays.”

Groaning at the mere thought of Chameleon simply passing through London in order to get his rocks off at Erato and perhaps indulge in a little bit of shopping, I rest my head on the back of the armchair and gaze up at the ceiling. “Thanks, Jane. I'll be sure to mention that possibility during my next report to the Secretary.”

“You do that,” she retorts, laughing. “I'm sure he'll appreciate it.”

“I don't know if... appreciate... is really the right...” Trailing off as I hear the sound of the bedroom door opening, I sit up straighter and, just as Benji and Jane are already doing, gaze expectantly at Dr Simpson as he walks into the living area. Despite it not even being five in the morning, Dr Jeff Simpson, IMFs go-to doctor in London for more than twenty years now, is dressed like a English banker in a full suit of navy pinstripe and, as usual, his expression is on the haughty side of unreadable. In his late fifties and possessing the seemingly innate ability to make everyone he tends to feel as though they're beneath him, I've had the misfortune of having to deal with him before and can only hope Will, who after handing over his wad of cash to Jane passed out somewhat spectacularly in my arms, was lucky enough to stay unconscious through his examination.

“He'll live,” Dr Simpson announces, peering down his nose at me as though he's somehow decided I must be personally to blame for Will's condition. “Possibly not all that happily for the next day or two, granted, but he'll nonetheless make it through to continue doing whatever exactly it is you people do in a couple of days or so.” Pausing, he places his bag on the back of the sofa and busies himself with picking imaginary lint off his waistcoat for a few seconds before giving a small sigh and continuing. “He's been drugged, clearly, but with what I won't be certain until the results of the blood tests come through. I'd hazard a guess as to it being nothing too serious however. Probably some cocktail party mix of Ketamine and Ecstasy, with perhaps a side order of an amphetamine of some description. Rest and ensuring he remains hydrated should be all that he requires by way of making a full recovery.”

Standing up so that the doctor can look me in the actual eye instead of continuing to look down at me, I walk over to the sofa and ask, “What about any injuries?”

“Superficial only,” he replies, opening his bag and pulling out two small white cardboard boxes that he hands over the back of the sofa to me. “Faint bruising and a couple of abrasions and welts here and there. Again, he'll live. While I suspect it will be a tad of overkill, just make sure he takes the course of broad spectrum antibiotics through to the end, just on the off chance he was exposed to anything... unpleasant, and the other packet simply contains painkillers for the headache he'll no doubt wake up with.”

Nodding my thanks for the medication, I hand the two boxes down to Jane and, solely in the name of needing to be as fully as informed as possible, murmur awkwardly, “Was he...?”

“I'm sorry, I appear to have missed the end of your question there, Agent Hunt,” Dr Simpson replies, looking me directly in the eye and – I swear I'm not imagining things here – smirking. “Perhaps you would like to ask it again?”

Not wanting – actually, that's not entirely true because it's something I'd quite like to do if only the circumstances were different – to pick a fight with Simpson over his petty smugness, I smile blandly and shrug. “Very well then, have it your way,” I declare as, no doubt feeling as though she'll need to stop me in case I snap and go for the doctor, Jane drags herself off the sofa and comes to stand by my side. “Was he raped?”

“While there's signs of recent sexual activity,” the doctor replies, giving me a smug – 'I made you say it' – look as he closes his bag, “it is not my place to comment as to whether it was consensual or not. Oh, and before you ask, as it was such a... delicate... subject I did not feel the need to seek clarification.”

“Well, thank you for your assistance,” Benji states, taking matters into his own hands and gesturing the doctor towards the door as, most likely like Jane, he doesn't especially want to witness the further deterioration of the Agent Ethan Hunt and Dr Jeff Simpson Show. “It really was very kind of you to get here so quickly.”

Mentally applauding Benji for his ability to play nice with the prick but not wanting to hear any more of his ass kissing for fear of wading in and letting the doctor know just how little I happen to think of him, I walk across the living room and come to a stop just inside the door of Will's bedroom. The lamp on the bedside table having been left on, I can see him clearly as, curled on his side in the middle of the bed, he sleeps soundly, and the relief I feel at this, at having him safely back with us is so great that it actually surprises me.

Joining me in the doorway, Jane slides her arm around my waist and leans up against me. “Well,” she murmurs, “regardless of whatever else is going on, at least he's back with us, back... where he belongs.”

~*~

Budget, being a dirty, if not completely foreign word as far as the Secretary's concerned, there's no denying that his personal London base in Knightsbridge is one of the nicest I've ever been in. Large, quiet, airy and both expensively and tastefully furnished, it's more of a self-contained five-star motel than it is IMF safe house, and...

And I know I'm being ungrateful sitting here in a sulk and viewing it as little more than a gilded prison cell.

I'm in climate-controlled comfort with every tech-toy – and probably then some – known to man at my disposal and...

I'm bored.

Benji and Jane have gone, undercover as a newly married couple of all things, and if this doesn't test their acting skills and ability to remain in character then, seriously, nothing will, to Chameleon's motel in order to keep a better eye on his comings and goings and I miss them. I miss their chatter, I miss the sound of Benji's fingers as they fly over his keyboard, hell, I just miss their very presence. I'm not saying I particularly want to talk to them, because, having nothing new to share in relation to the case we suddenly find ourselves in the middle of, I don't, it's just that... I don't know. If they were still here I could at least surreptitiously watch them going about their business instead of staring blankly into space and waiting for something – anything, I'd take absolutely anything – new to pop up on the laptop screen.

Waiting, or patience even, for that matter, never really having been my forte, just sitting here with nothing to do is doing my head in. I could have a nap but given that Will's still asleep I don't, even though I have no real idea what I'm going to say to him, want to miss him when he materialises. While I'm still pissed off at his random disappearing act and the effect it had on the rest of us, now that he's... injured... I no longer feel quite as compelled to deliver a lecture to him about the error of his ways that I did earlier. Again, I'm still annoyed and know deep down that it's my duty as team leader to make my displeasure known, but somehow it now doesn't seem right.

Besides, surely what he appears to have put himself through would have to be worse than anything I could have to say anyway.

That, and I know I'm going to have to be the one to tell him about Kirby and his team.

Choking back a sigh, I glance in the general direction of the kitchen and try to decide whether I can be bothered making myself a fresh cup of coffee or whether, given that I'm agitated enough without adding even more caffeine to my system, I'd be better off just sticking with water when the bedroom door opens and Will walks unsteadily through it. Still dressed in baggy grey cotton pyjama pants and a loose white t-shirt, he looks for all the world as though he shouldn't be out of bed and for the first time I can see some of the bruises and abrasions Dr Simpson mentioned. Vivid red marks ring both his wrists and the base of his neck and bruising in the shape of finger imprints litter his upper arms. He's also fairly obviously limping, as though every movement is causing him discomfort. 

Visibly recoiling slightly when he notices I'm sitting in an armchair staring at him, Will makes a point of avoiding my gaze and murmurs, “Bathroom?”

“First door on the left past the kitchen,” I reply, gesturing in the bathroom's general direction. “You can't miss it.”

“Thanks.” Lifting his head, Will gazes at a spot somewhere above my head for a moment before, clearly changing his mind about something, shaking his head and shuffling off.

Needing something to do while I wait for his return, I go into the kitchen and dither for a couple of minutes over the hardly life-changing decision of 'to coffee or not to coffee' before settling on grabbing a couple of bottles of water from the refrigerator and making my way back into the living area. The façade of Harrods just outside the window holding no more interest for me than the last time I tried to kill a moment or two by gazing out at it, I don't even bother glancing towards it and simply flop back down in the armchair. Perhaps knowing that I'll be lying in wait for him, Will takes his sweet time in the bathroom and when he finally limps back into the room I stop him by issuing forth with words I suspect he really doesn't want to hear.

“We need to talk.”

“I...” Coming to a reluctant stop, Will glances with obvious longing towards his bedroom and sighs. “I suppose we do,” he replies unenthusiastically as, all the time making a point of not looking at me, he gingerly takes a seat on the sofa. “But first, I've got to know... Did it work?”

Taking it that he means tagging Chameleon with the TR-81, I nod. “It did. He's staying at the Mandarin Oriental at Hyde Park under the name of Charles Perkins. I've sent Benji and Jane to the motel to make sure we have an eye on him at all times.”

“Good,” Will murmurs, his relief evident in the way his entire body seems to relax at the news. “But...” Frowning, he gives me, albeit fleetingly, an openly curious look. “If Benji and Jane are monitoring Chameleon, what are Kirby's team doing? Isn't this still their mission?”

“Kirby and his team are dead,” I state, the words slipping with blunt carelessness out of my mouth before common decency can step in and soften the blow. “Oh!” Realising the error of my ways as the colour drains from Will's face and he sucks his breath in with shock, I rub my temples and wish like crazy I could just erase the last few seconds. “Shit! Sorry. I should have put it better than...”

“How?” Will interrupts hoarsely. “What happened?”

“We're working on the assumption that... Chameleon happened,” I reply softly, any lingering need I may have felt to question Will further dying a natural death at the clearly exhausted state of him. “Kirby's reports indicated that he thought the team may have been made and, well, Jane and I found their bodies in their base at Earls Court. Preliminary reports from the Sweepers are that they were killed by a nerve agent, probably the one it's believed Chameleon's responsible for stealing from Mossad late last year.”

“The Secretary keeps saying that he wants Chameleon as an asset,” Will whispers, glancing down at his wrists as, seemingly unconsciously, he rubs listlessly at the abrasions. “He's not an asset though, he's a rabid animal that needs to be taken down...” Trailing off, he lifts his head and, allowing his gaze to slide to mine, shocks me with the raw emotion in the depths of his blue eyes. “Ethan, I...”

Unable to take feeling as though I'm simply adding to Will's anguish any more, I stand up and, walking over to the sofa, hold my hand out for him to take it. “It's okay,” I murmur, feeling more helpless than perhaps I ever have as he slowly places his hand in mine and allows me to assist him up from the sofa. “Just go back to bed and get some more rest. Everything else can wait.”

~*~

With perfectly awkward timing I return to the flat after having had a pointless meet with a CIA acquaintance on the steps of the British Museum just as Will walks out of the bathroom. Fresh from a shower and clad only in a white towel sitting low on his hips, he comes to a sudden, frozen stop and stares with obvious shock – if not dismay – at me through wide eyes. Although I don't want to, I can't help but stare back and I know that I don't have to say anything as he can already read what I'm thinking – 'oh my God, just what on earth did you put yourself through? – in my horrified expression. Next to naked as he currently is, I can see the extent of his injuries, the welts on his back and more finger shaped bruising on his hips and waist, better than I ever wanted to and, it all pointing to only one thing, I just honestly don't know how to react. His skin flushed pink, it's also fairly clear that he's put a lot of effort into trying to scrub himself clean and that, to me, the casual observer, makes it even worse.

IMF. Impossible Mission Force. We do what we have to do regardless of what it may cost us personally.

But...

Fuck.

It's hard for me to admit, especially given some of the things I've put myself through but, maybe, just sometimes, the cost is too high.

Perhaps I don't know Will as I liked to think I did. Perhaps this isn't actually bothering him anywhere near as much as it's bothering me, but... He's quiet and private and this... This isn't right.

“What?” Will demands in a defensive, querulous tone as, my stunned mullet impression finally having gotten the better of him, he folds his arms across his chest and shakes his head. “Don't stand there... passing judgement on me, Ethan. Maybe... Maybe I just like it rough!”

“Uh-huh.” I tilt my head to the side and continue to gaze at him as though I've never seen anything quite like it before. “Clearly you learn a new thing every day, then,” I murmur, shrugging. “But, whatever. To each their own and all that.”

Dropping his arms to his sides, Will straightens up and meets my gaze. “It's got nothing to do with you anyway,” he mutters. “If... this... is what floats my boat, then what's it you, huh?”

Not buying his 'I'm cornered, so I'll use bravado to bluff my way out of it' act for a second, I decide, even though part of me knows that I really shouldn't, to play a hunch and, with a predatory smile, amble up him. “Maybe I'm just seeing you in a whole new light,” I comment, not slowly my pace even as, knowing his bluff has already been called, Will backs himself up against the wall.

“Yeah?” Although it's glaringly obvious that my proximity is unsettling Will, he stands his ground and doesn't make any attempt to escape, not even when, looming over him, I grab his wrists and pull his arms above his head, effectively pinning him to the wall.

“Rough, huh?” I murmur, ignoring the look of mounting panic in Will's eyes as, somehow through whatever it is that's going on in his head at the moment, he defiantly meets my gaze. “Okay. Fair enough.” Shoving my knee between his legs, I use my free hand to make a grab at his cock through the towel and it's that, the shock that I'd actually go that far, that finally breaks through his defences and gets him to move.

Gasping, Will hurriedly frees himself from my grasp and, stumbling, almost falls in his haste to get away. “Happy now?” he whispers, keeping a careful watch on me as he backs towards his bedroom.

“Ecstatic,” I sigh as, feeling like some sort of sick and twisted lowlife, I lean heavily back against the wall and run my fingers through my hair. Maybe what I just forced myself to do didn't need to be done and maybe it did. We'll probably never know and I can only hope Will, when he's calmed down, can see it for what it was, the destruction of a charade he didn't need to keep up. “If... If you can bear to be in the same room as me, that is, we need to talk.”

Will, although he's still struggling to regulate his breathing, slowly nods from his position of all too brief sanctuary in his doorway. “I know.”

“You get dressed and I'll get us something to drink,” I reply, hiding my relief at his easy acceptance of our need to talk behind a bland smile. “Do you want a coffee, or will water do?”

“Water's fine,” Will mutters as he steps into the bedroom and pulls the door shut behind him.

Alone, and with my heart trying to beat through my damn chest, I notice that the two bottles of water I'd taken from the fridge earlier are still sitting on the coffee-table and simply flop down into the armchair that I swear, given how much time I've been spending in it, has already moulded to the shape of my ass. I'm not proud of what I did, and nor do I know if I'd repeat it if I had the moment over again, but... To be so close to Will, to feel the heat emanating from his body and to hear the sound of his breath catching in his throat, it...

It was wrong of me, yes, but at the same time it was just... something else again.

I don't find battered and bruised sexy, and I certainly don't get off on fear, but if the circumstances had been different and he'd been willing, I...

I don't think I would have been able to stop.

He...

There's just something about him. 

I've always, vaguely at least, been aware of it, but to have him so close, I...

I need to get a fucking grip, that's what I need to do.

Will, proving yet again his impeccable timing, choosing this exact moment to walk out of the bedroom and take a seat on sofa, I throw him a bottle of water and, wanting to get it over with, state, “Look, I'm sorry. I never should have... tested... you like that and I apologise. It... It wasn't nice of me and I hope you can understand why I did it.”

Unscrewing the lid of his bottle, Will takes a long drink of water and gives a half-hearted shrug. “It's okay, I understand,” he murmurs. “I do and... what's more, I... I'm okay. Look. I'll admit it. Erato was more... full on... than I thought it would be, but...” He looks across at me and smiles grimly. “Even if I knew then what I know now, I still would have gone through with it and... as much as I wouldn't want to, I'd do it again if I had to.”

“Chameleon means that much to you?” I query, genuinely curious as to what I'm hopefully about to hear.

Scowling, Will nods. “We all have our holy grails, the ones we want above all else.”

“And Chameleon is yours?”

He nods again and, as though playing for time, takes another drink. “You have no idea,” he replies, startling me with the intense look of loathing in his eyes as he looks up. “And... I'm not going to rest until I have him.”

Knowing that we've just reached another one of those 'don't want to, but know I have to' moments, I bite the proverbial bullet and just go for it. “What did he do to you?”

“Me personally? Nothing. Well, not until last night, anyway,” Will responds as, no doubt assailed by memories he'd probably give anything to forget, he quickly drops his gaze and feigns fascination with his water bottle. “It... Okay. Because you deserve an explanation, I'm going to give it to you. Please though, just let me get through it and if I've missed anything or there's any questions you're just dying to ask you can bring them up when I've finished...”

“Sounds fair enough to me.” Making myself comfortable, I take a mouthful of water and wait for Will to start.

“Okay...” Sighing, Will follows my lead by settling himself as comfortably as possible on the sofa and, in a clear voice I suspect fuelled by determination to get through this, begins his explanation. “After Croatia, the first assignment I was given was helping a team based in Honolulu set up a trap to capture Chameleon. A young, not long promoted agent by the name of Steven Palmer was undercover as a clerk attached to the armoury at the naval base. His cover story had him being deep in gambling debt and, in desperate need of cash, he was looking to give access to the armoury to anyone able to pay handsomely for the privilege. We knew Chameleon was in town and we also knew that the armoury contained a prototype weapon that he was anxious to get his hands on.” Pausing, he takes a deep breath before pushing on. “The meet was set up and it was meant to be simple. Palmer was to tag Chameleon with the TR-81 and that was to be the end of his involvement. Only... Only it didn't go down that way. Because of the high tech security at the base, the meet was off the grid and Palmer had no tracking on him. He... Fuck...”

“Will...”

“Just... Let me finish. Something... to this day we don't know what exactly... went wrong and Palmer disappeared.” Shaking his head, Will grips the water bottle so tightly that the plastic begins to crease and crumble. “His body was found three days later. He'd been sexually tortured and the bastard had left a fake tattoo of a fucking chameleon on his chest, a calling card, if you like. Palmer, he... He was newly married and had just discovered that his wife was pregnant with twins and we let him down. I... I let him down...”

“What? You can't blame yourself, Will. Chameleon's exceptionally cunning and appears to always be one step ahead of us. What happened to Palmer is tragic, but...”

“I missed it,” Will murmurs simply. “I was responsible for gathering the intel on Chameleon and I missed that he was... that he... is... a sadistic, sexual predator. If I'd have dug deeper before the mission went live I would have discovered the trail of corpses in the bastard's wake. Just... The more I looked the more there were. If we'd tracked him to being somewhere you could almost bet your life on there being a body of a young man popping up either at the same time or not long after. I... I shouldn't have missed it and if I hadn't, if I'd done my job properly, the mission would have been handled better and Palmer would probably still be with us.”

“Will...” I get it now, I really do, and I know it's easy for me to say, but Palmer's death isn't his fault. All the intel in the world wasn't going to protect him if Chameleon was on to the set up. “You should have told me...”

“It was my first assignment,” he states, giving me a pained look. “I was already doubting myself after Croatia and to fail my first assignment so badly it... it just took it out of me. Maybe knowing Chameleon's sick... predilections... wouldn't have changed anything but, however you look at it, I missed it, to this day it eats at me, and for Palmer's memory as much as my own peace of mind I'm not going to rest until he's either rotting in a cell or, and this is my preferred option, actually, wearing a toe tag.”

“Whatever it takes, huh?” I offer, knowing I don't really have to say anything else.

“Whatever it takes,” Will repeats with a nod. “When Kirby called because he knew I was in Paris and was up-to-date on Chameleon's file, I... I just had to go. If you'd have been there I would told you what was going on but, and I'm sorry if this makes you think less of me, Ethan, I wouldn't have asked. This is my... cross to bear... not anyone else's and I'm sorry for dragging you all into it.”

“Chameleon's an IMF target and I know I speak for the others when I say we have no problems with being here,” I reply. “And, for what it's worth, having been in your position before, I wouldn't have stopped you. I just would have preferred to have known, that's all.”

“Sorry,” he murmurs wanly. “You mightn't believe me, but... I'm actually glad you're all here. Having the team here makes me feel more... hopeful... that this may be it, that this time we might actually be able to get the bastard.”

“And on that note, seeing as you somehow managed to get the TR-81 on him, I've just got to ask... How did you actually do it?” I think I can guess and it's not as though I want to put Will on the spot, not after he's been so forthcoming, but for the sake of completion I have to.

“You would have to ask that, wouldn't you...” Sighing, Will rolls his eyes. “But, okay... I never thought I'd say this, but for a sex club Erato is actually incredibly well managed.”

“It is?”

“Mmm... There's always a handler in the room who not only steps in the second a safe word is used but also ensure condoms are always used. He holds any medication that the... participants... might need and makes sure they get them if needed.”

A-ha. The penny finally dropping, I remember what Benji had mentioned was taken with the TR-81 and give a low, impressed whistle. “The asthma inhaler...”

Blushing slightly, Will lowers his head and gazes down at his knees. “When I saw that I was finally going to reach the man we'd tagged as Chameleon I... I faked an asthma attack, so...”

“The TR-81 was in your mouth,” I finish faintly as everything falls horribly into place. Just... Dear God. What does it say about your chosen line of work when knowing that your team mate successfully performed oral sex on a target – worse, on someone he actively despises – is actually cause for admiration? It... It's just not right.

“And on my hands,” Will whispers. “It was the only way we could think of getting it on him and... and at least it worked. Oh... And before you ask, the urge to bite it off was even harder than you could ever imagine...”

“I...” What do you say? Seriously. Telling Will that I'm both proud and a little in awe of his commitment would no doubt sound patronising and the last thing I want to do is add to either his embarrassment or discomfort.

Sighing heavily, Will wearily lifts his head to look at me. “I don't want or need your pity or your disgust, Ethan. I just did what I had to do and now I want Chameleon.”

Standing up, I walk over to Will and crouch down in front him. “You don't... you could never... disgust me,” I state firmly, “and thanks to you, we'll get him”

~*~

There is, I would argue, no truth in the popular saying relating to change being as good as a holiday. Wanting to break free of my apparent home away from home, the armchair in the living area, I've been sitting at the dining table for close to three hours now and, sadly, apart from being a little less comfortable and offering me something to lean my elbows on, there really isn't any specific difference at all. Slightly different surroundings, sure, but that's pretty much it. I still feel stuck, almost as though I'm in some sort of holding pattern, the mission still hasn't progressed any and, as hard as I try – even going so far as to attempt to lose myself in games of solitaire on the laptop – I can't stop thinking about Will and what he endured at Erato. 

Knowing that it won't do me any good, that, hell, I... shouldn't... be dwelling on it, as after all, what's done is done, doesn't help as it's like I'm caught in a loop that I can't break free of. I even, all the time with the nagging voice telling me not to, that it was never going to achieve anything positive or useful, spent over an hour fully researching Erato. Old. Connected. Incredibly expensive. Anything – your kink is ours to fulfil – goes. If you had the cash and the fetish then it was... the... club to be a member of. 

I'm not naïve. I know it takes all sorts and, quite frankly, I don't have a problem with it. If you want to dress up as Captain America while some fat woman dressed as a vampire spanks you and tells you that you've been a naughty superhero then, seriously, go for it. God knows, so long as it's both legal and consensual, it's got nothing to do with me. S&M. Multiple partners. Role-playing. Just... Whatever. It's all so far removed from my own personal preferences that, to be perfectly honest, none of it usually so much as pops into my mind. There's clubs like Erato, be they gay, straight or bi, the world over and there always will be. I've passed though a couple in my time, but only ever as a voyeur, an interested observer for the sake of my cover, and even then it was an experience in remaining fully in character all in itself. 

I've never had to... participate.

I would if the situation called for it. Desire, or even... like... for that matter wouldn't come into it. I'd do it because I had to, because it was both expected and required of me in order to achieve the greater goal. I hope however, and I'm not ashamed to admit this, that the moment never comes. Seducing a target is one thing. Most field agents have had to play the seduction card on a number of occasions during their career. Some times, depending on the target, of course, it's even fun, a pleasurable interlude in an otherwise relentless mission. We just... do what we have to do. Male. Female. Attractive. Ugly. It doesn't matter. One of Jane's favourite anecdotes to tell when she's drunk is how she had to kiss another woman and that her sole memory of the act is the effect it had on smudging their lipstick. She's not gay, but she did it because the mission called for it.

Seducing someone can momentarily make you feel like a cheap whore but at the end of the day it's usually far from the worst thing you've had to do that week and life just goes on.

What Will put himself through though... 

I can, as much as I really, really don't want to, only imagine what went down in Erato and for all my blasé attitude of live and let live it makes me sick to the stomach. Consensual, yes, but only in that, feeling as though he had to, that no one was holding a gun to his head and he'd freely placed himself in the situation. Other than that, however... Bound. Passed around. Effectively helpless. Which, for someone who always thinks things through and likes to be in control, would have simply been unbearable. I suspect, and as with every thought my treacherous mind is latching on to and running with it doesn't help things in the fucking slightest, he would have been popular too. Incredible body, attractive, and with the most expressive eyes, they probably thought all their deviant Christmases had come at once. I think of them, all the faceless men and, worse, Chameleon, the one I can put a face to, touching him and I just can't stand it. I don't know if it's jealousy or what, but it's all just eating away at me and making me want to scream at the unfairness of it all.

The sound of what could be a glass hitting the floor coming from Will's bedroom suddenly penetrating through the fog of going nowhere fast thoughts in my head, I stand up and hurry over to his door. Giving it a cursory knock, I don't bother waiting for an answer and slowly push the door open. “You okay?” I query, somewhat redundantly I might add given that, naked to the waist, covered in sweat and with his face half buried in his t-shirt, Will sits breathing raggedly on the edge of the bed. A glass, its contents now seeping into the carpet, lies on the floor by the bedside table and I would say, going on the angle of the lamp, that he must have knocked it off in his haste to turn the light on.

“Nightmare,” Will mumbles as, without looking up from the t-shirt, he gestures for me to leave. “I... I'm fine though, so... So just go back to doing whatever it was you were doing.”

Go back to those thoughts when the main cause of them, who, incidentally despite having slept in the same room as him before I've never known to suffer nightmares, is sitting in front me visibly trembling? Yeah, I don't think so. “In your dreams, Brandt,” I mutter. “Just... Stay there and I'll be back.” Quickly hotfooting it to the bathroom, I snatch up a towel from the rack and, returning to the room, gently place it on Will's lap. “Here. Dry yourself off while I get a clean top out of your bag.”

Slowly lifting his head up, Will opens his mouth as though he's going to argue with me before giving a small shrug and starting to pat the towel over his neck and torso. “Thanks, but... You don't have to...”

“Maybe I don't, but I am,” I interrupt as, selecting a black t-shirt from his neatly packed bag, the one that in his haste to join Kirby in London he left behind in Paris and we dutifully brought along with us, I shake it out and throw it at him. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No. I don't.” Pulling the t-shirt on, Will gives me a beseeching, 'just drop it' look. “It was just a nightmare.”

“One that clearly had a bad impact on you,” I reply, taking the towel from him and dropping it on the floor over the puddle of water before picking the glass up and returning it to the bedside table. “I'm not saying I'll be able to help, but...”

“What part of 'I don't want to talk about it' are you struggling with here?”

“I just thought...”

“I'm fine.”

He's clearly not, but nor am I masochistic – or should that be, sadistic? – enough to push the subject. Maybe the nightmare was about Chameleon killing Palmer or maybe it had a more Erato themed tinge to it but, whatever it was, forcing him to talk about will only make an awkward moment worse so, better late than never, I know I have to drop it. “Would you like some company anyway?” I query, no doubt to Will apropos of nothing. “Just... Get back into bed and I'll stay with you.”

Resting both his palms flat on the mattress, Will leans back and gives me a suspicious look. “I don't need a babysitter.”

“That wasn't what I was offering,” I respond, sitting down on the bed next to him and causing him to immediately shuffle further away. “I was offering company, not... monitoring.”

“I told you already, I'm fine,” Will complains. “You don't have to put yourself out and... can just go about your business. I have a headache, so you have my word that I don't have any plans on going anywhere and am just going to get back into bed ”

“It was just an offer,” I murmur, turning to Will and flashing him a faint smile. “Certainly nothing to get so... defensive... about.”

“I'm not...” Trailing off, his expression changes to one of curiosity. “Why? Why would you want to stay with me?”

“Because you're my team mate and it's in everyone's best interests for you to get back on your feet as quickly as possible. I just thought, and believe me when I say I didn't mean anything else by it, that given you'd just had a nightmare you might have slept better knowing you weren't alone.” Pausing, I note that Will is watching me closely and shrug. “You're also my friend and the reason I'm here, the reason I offered to stay here, is because I don't like seeing you like this and want to do whatever I can to help.”

Looking away, Will shakes his head and gazes down at the towel on the floor. “What I think you'll find,” he murmurs, “is that I'm a liability. I... I try not to, but I feel things too keenly. Croatia. Chameleon. Last night... I just never should have returned to field work as...”

“If I felt that way, if I had even the slightest of inklings that you weren't up for it, I wouldn't have you on my team,” I state, cutting him off as, throwing caution to the winds, I lightly place my hand on his knee. “Yet... Here you are. Call it arrogant of me if you want, but I only work with the best.”

“You're only saying that to...”

“I'm not. Benji's the best tech expert. So good, in fact, that you know as well as I do that the Secretary is always trying to get him to return to headquarters. Jane's easily the best female agent and you, Will, are by far the best all rounder.”

“Crap,” Will exclaims, shaking his head as he abruptly moves his knee out from under my hand. “How can you say that when...”

“Your field skills are faultless,” I continue, talking all over the top of him as though he'd never even spoken, “and your ability to not only recognise targets but to also know their file inside out is both second to none and invaluable. You're also the... heart... of the team in that you still care. Targets and missions might occasionally get to you but that's because you're human, not because you're a liability...”

“I...”

“As you're not a mark, I wouldn't have said it if I didn't mean it.”

Sighing, Will surprises me by taking my hand in his and giving it a squeeze. “Thanks,” he murmurs with what I do believe to be a tired yet genuine smile. “I think I just needed to hear that.”

“You'll be fine,” I reply, squeezing his hand back before standing up and gesturing at the bed. “As we don't know if all the drugs are out of your system yet, you also still need to rest, so... Get back into bed and I'll...”

“Does the offer of company still stand?” Will queries softly as, surprising me again by doing what he's told without either comment or complaint, he swings his legs up onto the mattress. “You don't have to, I mean, it was a kind offer but if you've got something you'd rather...”

“Of course the offer still stands.” Smiling, I help smooth the bedding over Will as he lies down before settling myself on top of it next to him and propping my back up against the mound of pillows. “As you already know I can sleep anywhere, so just get some rest and I'll be still here when you wake up.”

“Thanks...” Rolling onto his side, Will presses his back against my thigh and, after all but completely pulling the blanket over his head, whispers, “I hated it. Last night, I... I hated every second of it...”

~*~

Last night's... holiday... at the dining table not really having done enough for me to want to repeat it, I'm once again sitting in the armchair in the living area and feeling as though I'm stuck in a very tedious, very repetitive holding pattern. Jane, when she checked in earlier, tried to sympathise with me by saying that she and Benji were stuck in the motel room as well but, just call me cynical, the sound of their room service breakfast arriving while she was still speaking to me just kind of killed the moment somehow. Chameleon too is holed up in room but, going on Jane's very detailed description of the two rent boys delivered to his door last night, I doubt very much he's suffering from the same boredom inspired malaise that the rest of us are.

Well, that is, sitting here waiting for the Secretary and his cronies to finally decide once and for all what we're supposed to do with the Chameleon situation, I'm bored. Will, however, is far from bored. With his iPad in his hand, his laptop on his lap and his head full of information, he's pretty much in his element and although it's not exactly my thing at all, I'm glad for him. If he's busy following snippets here and there and tying them together to make sense of them, then he's not thinking about Erato and that can only be a good thing. The morning having had a calm sense of normalcy about it – we woke, said good morning, ate breakfast together and then went our separate ways to shower and dress before meeting again in the living area – he hasn't mentioned what happened last night and, not wanting to reopen an already raw wound, I'm not going to either. If he wants to talk he knows that I'm here for him and for now at least we're both content with just leaving it at that.

Will's innate ability to pull just the right piece of information from seemingly out of thin air being yet another cause of admiration in me, I swear he'd barely got the computer booted up before he was announcing that he'd found something of interest. GCHQ, the UK Government Communications Headquarters in Cheltenham, was broken into last night and initial reports coming out of MI6 indicate that the plans for newly developed stealth detection technology are missing. Armed with this snippet ringing warning bells in his ears, he then, with only a small amount of swearing and tapping impatiently on the keyboard to aid him, managed to track the whereabouts of one Peter Granger into the country. Granger – a master thief who just happens to be as good at getting in to where, really, he has absolutely no right to be, as Chameleon is at disguising himself – would have to be one of the only freelancers around who could get into GCHQ undetected and we can't help but jump to the conclusion that he's the one behind the theft. This is in turn leads us to the uneasy thought that, seeing as the stealth detection technology would be invaluable in the hands of the wrong person and we have them both in London, that Chameleon's here because he's wanting the plans.

My phone ringing, I read on the caller ID that it's Benji and, hitting answer, grunt, “Talk to me.”

“And hello to you too,” Benji retorts just a tad too cheerfully for my liking. “How's Will?”

“At risk of his head exploding from the intel he's trying to cram into it, but other than that he's fine,” I mutter, rolling my eyes at Will who's frowning at me from the sofa as though he can't believe I'm daring to interrupt his concentration with my inane chatter. “Now, I'm taking it you called for a reason other than to find out how Will is, yes?”

“What? Oh! Yes. Of course.”

“And...? That would be what exactly?”

“That what we're hearing this morning from Chameleon's room... Oh! And did Jane tell you about his... guests... last night? Dear God, Ethan, I'm telling you now that you're not ever going to want to listen to that recording. It was like a bad porn movie. Not... Uh... Not that there's any particularly good ones, but...”

“Benji?”

“Yes, Ethan?”

“What are you hearing out of Chameleon's room... this morning?”

“Oh! Yes. Of course. That.”

“Mmm... That.”

“It sounds like he's arranging a meet of some sort for tomorrow. We haven't hacked the code they're using yet, so we don't know what the meet is for, but, hey, at least it's clear he's not just here for a holiday.”

“My relief knows no bounds. Now... Keep me updated the second you get anything else.” Ending the call before Benji can reply, I rest my phone on the arm of the chair and, looking across at Will, shrug. “It looks like Chameleon's planning a meet of some description for tomorrow.”

“Granger,” Will mutters with a scowl. “I'd bet my life on it.”

“Probably.” Noticing that I have a new message in my in-box from the Secretary on my laptop, I open it up and quickly scan the contents. It not really being what I'd been expecting, I slam the computer shut and, standing up, drop it carelessly onto the coffee-table. “I've just heard back from the Secretary,” I murmur, knowing that Will's not going to like the Secretary's decision and although I know it's cowardly of me I wish I didn't have to be the one to share it with him.

“And?” Placing his iPad on the sofa, Will gives me his full attention. “What's the final call?”

“That the plan hasn't changed. That Chameleon is still to be viewed as an asset, not a target,” I reply, hating the look of both shock and disbelief that immediately takes up residence on Will's face at the news. “Our mission is to observe and record. We're not, under any circumstances, to engage.”

“You...” Shoving his laptop roughly off his lap so that it lands upside down on the floor, Will jumps to his feet and glares at me. “You've got to be fucking kidding me! That bastard isn't an asset.”

“The Secretary begs to differ,” I respond as, getting the impression I'm going to have to take the official IMF side here, I take a step closer to Will.

“Fuck the Secretary!” Still glaring at me, Will moves out of reach and goes to stand by the window. “Chameleon is a target, not a fucking asset.”

“Will...”

“Don't 'Will' me! I'm entitled to my opinion as much as the damn Secretary is entitled to his... wrong... one.”

“We have our orders.” I'm not saying I'm enamoured with them but orders are orders and regardless of how much I might hate seeing Will this agitated, I'm still not emotionally invested enough in the mission to ignore them.

“And as I've got to live with myself, I've made my peace with what I'm prepared to do,” Will replies as, folding his arms across his chest, he leans against the wall and continues to glower at me as though, suddenly, all of this is my fault.

Although I know what the answer will be, I ask the obvious question anyway. “And that would be?”

“Take him out.”

“Just like that. Take him out?”

“Yes. It's not a decision I've reached lightly, but it's the right one. The... only... right one.”

“Our orders are to monitor, not engage.”

“And Chameleon is an animal, not at asset. He's a murderer and a psychopath and the world will be better off without him slithering around in it.”

I sigh and, not for one second liking the role of devil's advocate my sense of duty has seen fit to hand me, state flatly, “We're not assassins. If the Secretary wanted Chameleon dead he'd bring in Norton's team.”

“So you're fine with letting Chameleon go about his merry, murdering existence, then?” Will all but snarls as, pushing away from the wall, he stalks over to stand directly in front of me.

Taking a step backwards, I shake my head. “No, but...”

“But nothing,” Will snaps, “he has to die. And, before it strikes you to ask, no, it's not personal, not in the way you're probably thinking, anyway.”

“What he did to you...”

“What he did to me was nothing! In fact, if you really, really want to know, of all my... conquests... the other night he was far from the worst!”

“Will...” Maybe I'm weaker willed than I ever thought, but I swear in a second I'm going to put my hand up for killing Chameleon myself simply in order to get Will to calm down.

“Look!” Cutting me off yet again, he jabs his finger into my chest and narrows his eyes. “It's not about me. It's about Palmer, Kirby, Potter and Mayfield, the four IMF agents he's murdered. It's also about the untold number of young men he's killed, not to mention the hundreds of thousands of deaths courtesy of his arms deals. He... He's a killing machine. Always has been and always will be.”

“Fine,” I sigh, batting Will's finger away and taking a further step back. “You know something? I agree with you. The world would be better off without him in it, but our orders are clear.”

“What's following through with them really going to achieve, huh?” Will demands, gesturing wildly at his laptop. “We know who's dealing what at just about any given time as it is. We have intel coming in faster than the analysts can go through it and I'm telling you that if he's left to roam free he'll do far more damage than he will give us imperative information.”

“I... Damn it, Will! I can't condone assassination. You're right, everything you're saying is right, but I'm not prepared to go against orders.”

“I'm not asking you to,” Will retorts coolly. “I'm prepared to do it myself.”

I shake my head and, just about having had enough of this, cross my arms over my chest. “I can't let you do that.”

“You can't stop me.”

“Actually, I can.” Sighing heavily, I don't hold back and hone straight in on one of his current weak spots. “In case you've forgotten, unless you can survive gargling a couple of times with an acid mouthwash, you're now as tagged as Chameleon is.”

“You...” His expression clearly telling me that I succeeded in hitting him where it hurts, he turns his back on me and begins to walk towards his bedroom. “You don't have to look for me.”

“I do, and I will.”

“You can't stop me!” he repeats agitatedly as, spinning around, he glares absolute daggers at me. “Just keep playing at being the dutiful agent and leave me the fuck alone!”

That's it. Something inside me snapping, I swing into action before the voice of doubt can stop me and slam Will back against the wall. “You're not going anywhere,” I state coldly, “so stop fucking posturing and pull your head in.”

The pressure I'm applying to him making him go limp, Will gazes at me through eyes flashing with apprehension tinged anger. “You and me and the wall,” he murmurs in an odd, shaky sounding voice. “Twice in two days, people might talk...”

“Shit!” Not having taken yesterday's little... event... into consideration, I swiftly release Will and stagger backwards. “Think what you like, but I'm not letting you out of my sight.”

~*~

Déjà vu.

I'm sitting in my armchair busily ignoring my laptop while Will sits on the sofa scowling at his. Apart from the time of day though, as it's now mid afternoon as opposed to late morning, nothing much, apart from a quick call from Benji an hour ago to confirm that Chameleon's meet tomorrow is indeed with Granger, has changed. Will, when he's not plotting ways to get past me is thinking evil thoughts about Chameleon, while I just sit here like a lump, keeping one eye on Will and weighing up just what it is I'm prepared to do if he tries to make a bolt for it.

To be absolutely honest here, I agree with Will that tracking Chameleon as he goes about his day to day business isn't going to achieve a damn thing and that simply ridding the world of his slimy presence is definitely the best option. I'm just not, however, prepared to take him out myself and nor, contrary to his airy declarations of having made his peace with his decision, have I any intention of allowing Will to do it. Yes. We've both killed before, and I'm sure we'll kill again. You can't survive in the field if you're not willing to take a life. I've even followed through with the order to more or less kill in cold blood before. And, what's more, I've never lost sleep over having done it either. You just do what you have to do. Orders from above aren't, regardless of what Will's no doubt currently thinking, my be all and end all either. I've broken them more times than I can be bothered remembering and trust my own judgement to always make, given the circumstances, the right decision. 

And in this instance it's putting Will's future, even if it involves him bearing a grudge or even going so far as to despise me, above everything else. I'm confident he could see it through with ease, and most likely even shoulder the official consequences without too much of a problem, but eventually the doubt would set in and he'd struggle to halt its insidious assault. Maybe we could have got relevant information out of him after all? What if killing like that makes me no better than him? In hindsight, perhaps I was blinded by my own experiences and should have taken a step back...

Perhaps I'm wrong and don't know him at all, but having made my mind up it's a calculated risk I plan to see through.

“Just out of idle curiosity,” Will suddenly states in a quiet, conversational tone, “if I decided to make a move for the door now, how would you stop me?”

“Want to know what to expect, do you?” I reply, digging a class ring that I know will be instantly familiar to him out of my pocket and placing it on me knee. “Not very imaginative, I'll give you that, but effective.”

Shrugging, Will reaches into his own pocket and holds a small white pill out towards me on the palm of his hand. “There's an antidote for that.”

“So there is.” Leaning forward, I drop the ring onto the coffee-table. “Last time I checked there wasn't one for introducing your head to the wall though.”

Raising an eyebrow, Will calmly returns the pill to his pocket. “I'd like to see you try,” he retorts blandly.

“No. You wouldn't,” I reply, equally as blandly as, carefully placing the computer on the arm of the chair, I move across to – surprise the hell out of him – join Will on the sofa.

“What?” he mutters, looking at me curiously but, and now it's my turn to feel surprised, making no attempt to shift away. “The wall requiring too much effort you've decided to try your luck with the edge of the coffee-table instead?”

“I want to talk to you, not try to knock you out.”

“As I haven't changed my mind, I don't know what you could possibly want to talk to me about.”

Me either, but I've got to try to get through to him somehow. “You're really prepared to go out on your own and go through with it?”

“I am, yes.”

“You'll be disavowed.”

“I own my house and have savings, so I'll survive without a monthly deposit from IMF into my bank account.”

“Money won't help you if they're so pissed with you going off the reservation that they decide to retaliate by slapping you in a cell.”

“It's a price I'm willing to pay,” Will states matter-of-factly.

“Well I'm not,” I retort, shaking my head as, not for the first time, I wonder just what it will take to get through to him.

“It's my life and I can do what I like with it,” he mutters, frowning. “Just... Leave it, Ethan. I appreciate your concern but it's got nothing to do with you..”

“You're on my team and that makes you my responsibility,” I counter both verbally and with my own frown.

“I'm not your responsibility and I can travel down any path of my own choosing.”

“Not in this instance by yourself you can't. I won't let you.”

Meeting my eyes, Will sighs and replies in a quiet voice barely above a whisper, “You can't stop me.”

“No. Maybe not,” I murmur with an expansive shrug and a small smile as finally a much longed for idea pops into my head. “But I can try to appeal to your better, far more logical nature,” I finish smugly as Will gazes at me, obviously surprised at my apparent capitulation.

“Yeah?” he replies, looking at me blankly, as though he can't possibly imagine where I might be going with this. “And how exactly do you plan to do that?”

“As we now know the meet tomorrow is between Chameleon and Granger who, let's face it, has his own trail of murder and mayhem following him around, I suddenly had the thought...” Pausing to build the suspense, I broaden my smile and tap my finger on Will's knee. “What if we can get them, both Chameleon and Granger, to take each other out? It would be win-win. Neither of them deserve to be walking the earth, it's a play we've used before, and... if we do it properly we wouldn't be seen as deliberately ignoring orders.”

My... deviousness... having had the desired effect in both catching Will's attention and finally getting him to consider another option, he nods and returns my smile. “I like it. Now... Got any idea as to how we might make it happen?”

~*~

“Jupiter. Saturn's in position and the shot is clear. I repeat, the shot is clear.”

“Copy that, Saturn. Stand by.” Glancing up from my crouched position behind a rickety pile of disintegrating pallets at the roof of the abandoned factory to my left, I think for a split second that I can see the flash of Will's sniper rifle and mentally cross my fingers that I've made the right call, that...

I was right to place my trust in him.

The plan, when it eventually, after many exasperated sighs and harsh words, came to us early yesterday evening, is almost unoriginal in its simplicity. The tech toys are kept to a bare minimum, only a few carefully hidden wireless speakers and a tracking device in the bullet so that it can be retrieved – we are, after all, not involved in any of this and are merely here to observe – after having done what it's needed to do, in fact, and we're banking pretty much solely on paranoia to do most of our work for us.

Mind you, if we're unoriginal then Chameleon and Granger aren't much better. They've got all of London to meet in yet, as bad guys the world over seem to do, they've chosen a disused and derelict factory complex to make their exchange in. Personally, I'd have gone for a crowded tourist destination, perhaps even somewhere like Trafalgar Square myself as 'here, take my money and give me the plans' is hardly difficult or in need of any particular skill, but... Whatever. Abandoned factories or warehouses always seem to be where it's at, the meeting place of boring scum bags everywhere, and, just as it usually does, it plays nicely into our hands. Hiding spots a-plenty. Roof tops to look down upon from. Broken windows to allow for clear vision. Maybe they think they're being secretive and stealth, that they're safe here from pesky prying eyes, but they're not. Essentially they're like sitting ducks and, as far as I'm concerned, it couldn't be more perfect.

The stage having been carefully set, I can see that both Chameleon, a tall man in a dated black leather jacket and who has the sort of hard face that's capable of scaring small children, and Granger, a far shorter man with an unruly mop of brilliantly red hair, are on edge and that their well honed sense of paranoia is already working over time. Their accompanying muscle, suit clad and having delusions of looking like men in black for Granger, and quite possibly hired for no other reason than how they fill out their tight black t-shirt and jeans for Chameleon, feeding off the sense of unease emanating from their bosses already have one hand resting on their weapons and I just know by looking at them that they're going to be as trigger-happy as we were hoping for.

Arms dealers and master thieves not liking the police one little bit and doing everything in their power to just generally avoid all contact with them, their buttons would have been pushed gently towards the on-position as they drove up to the factory complex by the number of police cars slowly circling the area. An anonymous call to 999, claiming to have seen a man in a blue van try to abduct a young boy on a street corner was all that it took to bring them, the unknowing participants in our charade, out in force.

The police cars having provided Round One in our show, I decide that the time has come for Round Two and murmur into my comm, “Jupiter to Pluto. Time for some music.”

“Copy that, Jupiter,” Benji voice immediately responds in my ear. “Stand by.”

Not wanting our decision to... circumvent... the Secretary's orders to have any come back on either Benji or Jane if things go pear shaped, we set our plan out carefully before them this morning and, perhaps not all that surprisingly, both were declaring their willingness to play their part even before we'd fully finished. I, Will too, actually, tried to impress on them that they didn't have to, that we'd understand completely if they'd rather have nothing to do with it, but they weren't having any of it. Be it for Kirby and his team, general loathing for the men and everything they stand for, or because they simply want it to be all over, they're on board all the way and we're both thankful for it.

“Jupiter to Venus. You've got the exit covered?”

“The exit's covered, Jupiter.”

“Copy that,” I reply into the comm just as, from out carefully hidden speakers outside the factory, the telltale sound of police sirens begin to ring out. Low enough to be clearly far off in the distance but still of instant concern to the men inside, they visibly bristle and, clearly having had enough and wanting to get out of here, Chameleon storms up the table in the middle of the floor space and drops his briefcase down onto it. Looking no more pleased about how things seem to be panning out than Chameleon, Granger pulls what looks to be a USB flash drive out of his pocket and, hesitating over handing it across, glances nervously toward the window.

“Perfect,” I mutter to myself before activating the comm and adding, “Saturn. Take the shot.”

The order having been given, I then hold my breath as, in all seriousness, time just seems to freeze.

Trust. It now all boils down to trust and whether I made the right decision in placing the sniper rifle in Will's hands. I didn't have to. I could have easily taken the position on the roof and fired the catalyst shot over Chameleon's head. But, no. I chose to allocate the task to Will because I need to know what he'll do with the opportunity. With Chameleon's forehead in his scope, will he just take the shot and be done with it? God knows, especially given his feelings towards the man, it would be tempting. One shot and it would be all over. Chameleon would be dead and, if he wanted to further the lie, he could even blame the scope on the rifle for having been a millimetre or so off and state that it was simply an unfortunate accident. Would I blame him? No. Probably not. Would my trust be dinted and my opinion of him forever changed though? Yes. Absolutely.

What I've given Will, and there's no denying he looked startled when he reluctantly took the rifle from me, is a big task. Not the shot itself, as even Benji would be able to take that, but what he chooses to do with it.

Kill Chameleon, his holy grail, or just take the 'oops, I missed, damn it' shot that Chameleon's meant to immediately assume has come from one of Granger's men and that, as Granger obviously wants him dead, he'd better try to kill him first.

Again, as plans go it's a simple one. Feed on paranoia, a little bit of set up, and then just sit back and hopefully watch them take each other out.

Now it's just down to Will.

Hearing the whistle of the bullet as it flies through the air above my head, I clench my fingernails into the palms of my hands and watch...

… as it shoots past Chameleon close enough to graze his neck before lodging in the far wall.

My breath leaving me in a rush of relief, I pay little attention to the knee-jerk reaction of retaliatory bullets flying around the warehouse and silently send any random deity who may be hanging around to witness our show my heartfelt thanks for my gamble of trust having paid off. Yes, the shot was close. Some might even say too close. But I know Will and I know his prowess with a rifle and have every confidence that the bullet went exactly where he wanted it to go.

The blood bath, and why beat around the bush here as that's what it is, is over within a few seconds and as the wounded minions scatter both Chameleon and Granger lie dying on the dirty wooden floor. Littered with bullet holes and lying in rapidly growing pools of blood, neither have any hope of making it and I can't help but feel a grim sense of satisfaction at a plan well played.

“Venus. Retrieve the USB from Granger while I get the bullet from the wall, then, Saturn, Pluto, let's get out of here.” 

~*~

Having already had my daily dose of excitement and not feeling any great urge to play with fire at the moment, I wait until the Secretary has logged off the web-cam before saluting the blank screen and slamming it shut. It goes without saying that he's none too pleased with the death of Chameleon, the man he'd hoped would make a nice little asset for the IMF and, well, it's probably fair to say I only added to said displeasure when, unable to help myself, I – apologetically, of course – brought it to his attention that as our orders had been simply to observe and not engage, we would have had to have broken them to intervene. Do I, however, care that the Secretary is perhaps the only person alive to be mourning Chameleon's passing? Why, oddly enough, no. No I don't. Our story, complete with the audio files of what went down to back us up, is watertight, orders weren't – technically – broken, GCHQ have their plans back and Will, I hope, has both a clear and relieved conscience. 

As far as I'm concerned it's all very much a case of all's well that ends well. Although Chameleon's no longer an option, the Secretary probably already has a new target to fixate on and I doubt, his performance of huffing and puffing for my benefit aside, he'll lose any more sleep over the outcome than I will. MI6 and their brethren at GCHQ are so relieved to have their technology back that not only are they prepared to overlook the fact our intel, given that we were on the ground when the exchange was meant to be made, was better than theirs, but they've also given us a bottle of Dom Ruinart champagne by way of thanks. I think the agent would have quite liked to have dropped the bottle on my foot when he begrudgingly handed it over but, not liking it when other agencies muscle in our territory myself, I can't really say that I would have held it against him if he had. Benji and Jane, wanting to make the most of the opulence offered by the Mandarin Oriental without having to put up with the soundtrack of Chameleon and his rent boys to ruin it, are perfectly happily ensconced back in their honeymoon suite and no doubt racking the room service account up at a great rate.

So, yeah... All's well that ends well.

Stretching my legs out in front of me, I dump the laptop on the coffee-table and enjoy a sip of Dom Ruinart as, glancing towards the bathroom, I wonder just how long it is Will's planning on staying in the shower for. Subdued ever since leaving the factory, he declined a glass of champagne in favour of having a shower and I haven't seen him since before I connected with the Secretary. I hope he's okay, and, honestly, can't see how he... can't be, given that he's basically got what he wanted, but if he's not and still has something eating at him, then... Fuck it. I'm just clean out of ideas in respect to what I can possibly do for him. I'm not saying I'll give up and simply leave him to it – backing down, after all, not being a concept I've ever really been able to fully grasp – but apart from merely accepting that I'll continue to... try... to get through to him I don't know what else I can really do.

Hearing the bathroom door finally open, I place my glass back on the coffee-table and, after topping it up, pour a fresh glass for Will in the hope he'll now want it. “I'll say one thing for Six, they have good taste in champagne,” I comment as, barefooted and dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, Will wanders into the living area. “Seriously. You've got to try it.”

“I don't want a drink,” Will replies as, keeping his gaze averted, he comes to a stop in front of my chair. “I...” Sighing, he shoves his hands in his pocket and, in general, appears completely uncertain as to whether he even knows what it is he's doing. He also, and I don't want to see this, I really don't, has that achingly vulnerable look in his eyes that bypasses every single one of my logic chips and delivers a direct hit to my heart. “I just want to thank you,” he murmurs at last. “I would have gone through it, with taking Chameleon out myself, but you were right all along and I'm thankful to you both for having made me see sense and for coming through with the plan. I just want you to know that I really appreciate it and that...”

“There's nothing to thank me for,” I interrupt with a smile. “We're a team, Will, a team you're one hundred percent part of, and teams stick together. Maybe one day you'll be able to do something similar for me.”

“That's just it,” he responds, pulling his hands free from his pockets and nervously entwining his fingers together. “I know that I have to repay you somehow and I...”

Shaking my head, I wish I hadn't put my champagne just out of reach as suddenly, just call me psychic, I know I could do with a drink to get me through whatever it is that's coming next. “Don't be silly. Of course you don't have to repay me.”

“But you're wrong. I... I do have to repay you and...” With no form of warning whatsoever, Will drops fluidly to his knees before me and places his hands firmly on the inside of my thighs. “I could...”

And... Look. There you have it. I was wrong. Having a drink in my hand would in no way make this – what the fuck, surreal – moment any better at all. 

“You probably could,” I somehow manage to grind out through my shock as, with hands that strangely don't feel as though they're connected to my body, I bat Will's fingers away as they reach for my fly, “but you're not going to.”

“Why not?” Blushing a particularly delicate pink colour as it slowly dawns on him that his desire to clean his slate this way probably wasn't the best idea he's ever had, Will gazes down at the carpet and, nonetheless not giving up without a fight, rests his hands on the tops of my thighs. “From what I gathered at Erato the other night it's a very specific... skill set... I just happen to possess. They... All of them, they were most impressed.”

All of them. Uh-huh. And that, to be the last in a long line of... tasks... he feels as though he has to, in this case literally, do, is absolutely just what I want.

“I don't doubt your skills, any of them, for a second,” I murmur, squeezing my legs together and, leaning forward, very gently cupping his cheek in my hand. “But if this is ever going to happen it's not going to be like this. You're better than this, Will, and regardless of how... appealing... your proposition is, we both know it's not right.”

His blush intensifying, Will pulls back from my hand but remains kneeling in front of me. “Maybe it's not just because of the debt I owe you, have you thought of that?” he whispers. “I... I make the offer freely.”

“I know, or at least I hope you do. And... It's not, and maybe you don't even want to hear this, that I don't want you, but...”

“But you think I'm...” Trailing off, Will finally lifts his gaze to meet mine and I'm taken aback by the uncertainty and emotion I see in their blue depths. “It's okay, I understand. You think I'm...”

“Desirable, actually,” I interject softly as, placing my hands around his upper arms, I stand up and pull him to his feet. “Look at me, Will. I think you're very, very desirable and... and nothing else matters. Again though, if it, if anything is ever going to happen between us then it's not going to be like this. Not because you think you... owe... me or whatever.”

Cocking his head to one side, Will trails his finger lightly down the centre of my t-shirt. “No?” he queries with what I take to be genuine interest.

“No.” I take his hand in mine and squeeze it. “It's going to be because you genuinely want me.”

“Oh. Okay.” Some of his embarrassment giving way to surprise, Will takes a small step backwards and shrugs. “Actually, given that I'd only tag you with the TR-81,” he mutters, referring to the fact that for a while yesterday, until Benji quickly scrubbed their data, what was most likely Chameleon's two rent boys were showing up as tagged with our strain of the tracking compound as well, “you're probably wise to refuse.”

“It's not my concerns about being tagged that are making me come across as all noble,” I retort as, grinning, I grab Will's t-shirt and pull him to me for a sudden yet quite thorough kiss which, gratifyingly, he responds in kind to. “Now,” I gasp, pulling back from the kiss, “wait for it...”

“Wait for...”

My phone ringing silencing Will, I pull it out of my pocket and, all the time still grinning, quickly answer it. “Yes, Benji?”

“For some reason I'm suddenly getting two TR-81 readings from your location,” Benji replies. “As we no longer have the cannister I just thought I'd better check in to make sure everything is A-okay.”

“Thing's are fine, Benji. I just had to... inspect... Will's mouth for him and some of it must have transferred on to me.”

“You had to... What? I'm sorry, Ethan, but did you just say what I think you said?” Pausing, Benji only half puts his hand over the phone's mouthpiece and calls out to Jane, “I think Ethan just said he had to... inspect... Will's mouth. I don't get it. Why on earth would he need to be in...”

“Just give me the phone, Benji,” Jane interrupts with what sounds to be a muffled snort of laughter as she comes onto the line. “I never knew you had an interest in dentistry, Ethan,” she states as, still not getting it, Benji keeps harping on in the background for clarification. 

“I'm a man of many talents.”

“Mmm... Not to mention a smart ass.”

“Good night, Jane.”

“Good night, boys.”

Ending the call, I drop the phone onto the armchair and give Will my best innocent look as, his expression one of long overdue amusement, he sinks down onto the sofa. “You do of course realise that Jane's going to be left explaining all of that to Benji,” he comments drily. “He's probably never going to be able to look at either of us the same way ever again.”

“That's their problem, not mine,” I reply as, relieved that things appear to be going once again okay between us, I join Will on the sofa and hand him his glass of champagne. “Now, I don't know about you but having had quite enough excitement for one night I think the time may well have come to watch some television.”

“Television?” Looking astonished that such a suggestion could have actually come out of my mouth, Will takes the glass and toasts me with it. “But... Having heard your lectures on it enough times before, you... hate... television.”

“I do,” I agree, clinking my glass against Will's before picking up the remote control and pointing it at the television set. “Right now, however, I also hate the computer and the iPad and, as I feel no inclination to read, that doesn't really leave anything other than the television to turn to for... mindless entertainment to finish off a tiring day with.”

Reading between the lines of my 'tiring day' comment to correctly mean it's either the idiot box or we risk digging ourselves in a deep hole by attempting to... talk, Will nods and takes a sip of champagne. “Fair enough, then. TV it is.”

“Hmm... I thought you'd agree.” Switching the television on to what I instantly recognise as a Bond movie, I laugh and drop the remote onto my lap. “Bond. What more could we possibly want? We can sit here with our champagne and see how secret agents are really supposed to behave.”

“Oh yeah... Reality based viewing at it's very best,” Will mutters, rolling his eyes. “Aren't there any documentaries on any of the other channels? I mean, we're here in the UK. Surely David Attenborough has to be on somewhere.”

“You mean to say you don't buy into Bond's life being like ours?” I query facetiously as, giving me a look of long sufferance, Will shuffles closer and presses his side warmly against mine.

“Moonraker?” he offers, smiling as I instinctively drape my arm around his shoulders and pull him even closer still. “So... Been into deep space without telling me recently?”

“Not recently, no. But... Has Bond played Spiderman up the Burj Khalifa?”

“I can't say that I'm aware of him having indulged in that suicidal stupidity, no. But have you ever tried your hardest to destroy Saint Petersburg or where ever it was with a tank?”

“Not yet, I haven't,” I smirk. “I do, however, live in hope of it one day happening. Maybe not Saint Petersburg though as there's too much history there. Detroit would do.”

“Jane's right,” Will mutters, swinging his legs up onto the sofa and, all of his earlier embarrassment thankfully a thing of the past, making himself completely comfortable against me. “You are a smart ass.”

“And as that was a... private... phone call, you, my friend, have incredibly good hearing,” I murmur, laughing as, giving in to temptation, I plant a kiss on the top of his head.

“Ethan...” Curling his hand around my knee, Will tilts his head back and looks up at me. “What you said earlier about waiting until I genuinely wanted you... Having made a fool of myself once, how will I know when the time is right to try again?”

Smiling, I put my glass down on the arm of the sofa in order to place my hand over Will's. “You didn't make a fool of yourself, and there's a chance you won't know,” I reply, knowing that while I'm sounding cryptic I'm actually telling the truth. “But I will. I'll know...”

~*~

~ Four Mouths Later ~

Zipping my coat up, I carefully, so as not to wake the other occupants of the cabin, open the door and slip outside into the bitterly cold night air. The moon being just full enough to offer adequate light to see by, I walk a couple of hundred metres along a dirt track that, if I were to keep going on would take me straight down to Panguitch Lake, and take a seat on a conveniently placed felled tree trunk. It's so cold that I can see my breath but I don't regret dragging my ass out of my perfectly warm and cosy bed to come out here for a second. Nature at its most magnificent and an all too rare moment's peace in an always hectic life. As nice as being in bed was, this is easily better. Unusual, yes, but definitely better.

We're spending the night in an honest-to-goodness, albeit with all the mod cons and usual over the top IMF security measures, log cabin in a forest in Utah before making our way in the morning to a nearby regional airfield to intercept the arrival of yet another good for nothing asshole with designs on ruling the world as he tries to sneak into the States. As missions go it has all the hallmarks of being a walk in the park and until now, as I sit on my tree trunk marvelling at the night sky, I hadn't been all that taken with it. Now though, for no other reason than for the view and this moment of tranquillity, it may just sky rocket to the top of my list as mission of the year. While I'm not one for spending too much, if in fact any, time on dissecting my life with a fine tooth comb or over thinking things, I can't ignore that I'm perhaps currently more content than I've ever been.

I have my health and fitness, the sense of purpose and achievement that comes from the job I've chosen to devote my life to, and I also, in the form of the three people who mean the most to me, have my team. My friends, substitute family, and who I know I can trust with my life. Being suspicious by nature, I don't give my trust easily and to know that my team always has my back – as, of course, I do theirs – is just, to me anyway, quite eye opening. I also, in an airy, undefined sort of way, have Will. Not, granted, exactly in the 'allow me to introduce you to my lover' sense, but...

That, I'm confident, is only a formality and it will happen when it happens. And I still, regardless of the constant itch that a few random encounters with strangers here and there have proven that only he can truly scratch, don't particularly care when that is. The four months since London have been a learning curve that I wouldn't, not even for all the sex I could handle, change for anything. Both lingering looks and lingering in each other's company. Time spent together just because we wanted to and could. The occasional restaurant meal without the others as a quaint form of courtship that never proceeded to the evening's some might say logical conclusion. Neither Erato nor Chameleon are ever mentioned,, but I think that has more to do with Will choosing to close that particular chapter of his life firmly off than it is blinkered, head-in-the-sand denial over everything that happened. 

There were times when I almost wavered and, despite something telling me that it still wasn't completely right, that the mythical moment, the details of which I'm not even certain of myself, still hadn't occurred, gave in. Contrary to what I sometimes think is popular belief, I am after all only human and Will is very... compelling. I'm sure he doesn't know it, would probably even blush and adamantly shake his head if he was told, but he is and I do want him. Again with only being – a man – human, I wanted him that night in Knightsbridge too, but it would have been for all the wrong, most basic of reasons. Sex because it was on offer and to hell with the consequences. We could have gone through with it and, who knows, perhaps it still could have led to something. If I had the night over again though I wouldn't do anything differently as I don't have a problem with where we're at with each other now. The moment's near anyway. I can feel it. The other day on a crowded plane, despite the risk of disapproving glances or snide comments, he curled his arm around mine, rested his head on my shoulder and went to sleep. I would have called it, the right moment, then if not for – work intervening – the crazy, suspect pursuing days that followed.

The sound of quietly trodden footsteps penetrating my contentedly going nowhere thoughts, I glance along the path in the direction of the cabin and feel no sense of surprise whatsoever when I see Will making his way towards me.

“There you are!” he announces, giving me a funny – 'there are times when I really don't understand you' – look as he comes to a stop by the tree trunk. “I heard the front door and thought I'd better check to see what was going on. Just... It's the middle of the night. What on earth are you doing out here anyway?”

“I wanted to see the stars,” I reply, patting the trunk next to me. “Look. They're stunning.”

“The stars?” His expression, the one that tells me he's doubting my mental state, not improving any, Will shakes his head and doesn't move. “What are you on about? What's so special about the stars out here?”

“Did you know that in the average city or built up area, because of lights and pollution and the like, if you look up into the night sky you're only likely to see around five hundred stars,” I respond, reaching up and, grabbing his hand, pulling him down to take a seat next to me. “If, however, you're in an undisturbed area, like here for example, you can see up to fifteen thousand.”

“Your explanation, it makes sense, I suppose,” Will murmurs, the analyst in him still busily questioning my peculiar logic behind choosing to leave the comfort of my bed to be out here in the cold even as he tilts his head back to gaze up at the sky. “Oh! Look at them all. You're right. They actually are quite stunning.”

“Mmm... Maybe it's because I grew up on a farm, as Benji always calls it, in the middle of nowhere, but sometimes I just miss seeing the stars like this,” I reply, feeling as though I have to explain just why it is I'm out here. “We spend so much time in cities that you forget there's so many of them out there, that they're capable of looking like... this...”

“Why, Ethan Hunt, don't tell me you're actually having a... sentimental... moment,” Will teases as he shifts closer and, clearly not feeling any urge to wait for me to work it out for myself, lifts my arm in order to drape it around his shoulders. “It's okay though, your secret is safe with me and I won't tell anyone that you're a closet stargazer.” 

Dutifully doing as expected of me and settling my arm around him, I laugh and murmur, “My secret is safe with you, huh? I just knew there was a reason I thought you were the one for...” Trailing off as I notice for the first time what he's wearing, I shake my head and this time laugh at how simply things have suddenly fallen neatly into place. “Now,” I add as, standing up, I take my coat off and drape it around Will who, in his obvious haste to get to the bottom of just what the hell it was I was up to, is sitting there barefooted and dressed only in his thin cotton pyjamas.

“You thought I was the one for... now?” Will queries, accepting the coat but, and I can tell this just by looking at his confused expression, still not cottoning on to the fact that he's not wearing anywhere near enough clothes for the chilly weather. “If that makes sense to you then, congratulations, because...”

“Do you remember how in London I told you that I'd know when the time was right?” I interrupt, sitting back down on the tree trunk and grabbing his very cold hands in my gloved ones. 

“Of course I remember. I've been waiting with, I might add, decreasing patience ever since.”

“Well, it's now. The right time is... right now.”

“Why?” His eyes widening as his brain tries to calculate where exactly it is I think I'm going with my declaration, he shifts closer and groans. “There's a big ass bear behind me, isn't there? I'm about to be taken out by a bear and you thought that I might as well go out happy.”

“Mmm... Not a bear,” I smirk, almost as amused by his response as I am slightly bemused by it.

“Well, that's a relief then.”

“Frostbite.”

“Frostbite?”

“Frostbite,” I repeat as, getting up, I haul Will to his feet and wrap my arms around him. “I hate to be the one to break this to you, but it's in the mid teens at best out here and you're only wearing your pyjamas, so... While you mightn't have a bear to worry about, you may, now that I've drawn it to your attention, start to feel a little cold...”

“Shit!” Will exclaims, his eyes widening this time in dismay as he glances down at his bare feet and does a funny little hopping motion. “When I heard your door open followed by the front door, all I could think of was seeing if you were okay and just got up to follow you. I never stopped to think about what I was wearing or what I was heading out into.”

“And it's because of that that I know now is the time,” I murmur, kissing his forehead as, feeling him begin to shiver against me, I further tighten my arms around his body. “Now, come on. Let's get you inside and get you warm.”

“You know, your timing leaves a fair bit to be desired,” Will mock grumbles as he plants a fleeting kiss on my lips.

“It does?” Reluctantly releasing him from my embrace, I link my arm around Will's elbow and begin to lead him along the path towards the cabin.

“It really does.” After glancing down in the general vicinity of his groin area, he looks up at me with a truly wicked glint in his eyes and casually adds, “The second you brought it to my attention that I was slowly freezing to death? I swear... it... just up and disappeared.”

Laughing, I tug him closer and increase my pace. “It did, did it?”

“Mmm... Probably turned blue first and then just... disappeared,” Will retorts, snickering as we reach the front door and he pulls free in order to open it.

“Maybe I'll just have to take it upon myself to find it again,” I offer, feigning indifference to the situation with a small shrug.

Shrugging off my coat, Will drops it on the floor and, grinning, heads over to the stairs. “Your mission, should you choose to accept it...”

“Should?” Mirroring Will's grin, I lock the door before sidling up to him, grabbing him around the waist, and whispering directly in his ear, “This is me accepting...”

~ end ~


End file.
